


Cinema and Chill

by tincturesofamusement (orphan_account)



Series: Dreamer Errant [3]
Category: The Bone Season - Samantha Shannon
Genre: (as of TSR), Canon Compliant, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tincturesofamusement
Summary: -Paige unravels a few threads in the mystery of Iris and the Parisian voyant community, but stumbles on a much bigger problem. (originally published 2020-03-14)
Relationships: Paige Mahoney/Warden | Arcturus Mesarthim
Series: Dreamer Errant [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708393
Kudos: 4





	Cinema and Chill

“Neither gave any indication as to what _le cinéma_ could refer?”  
  
I shrugged my shoulders. “I kind of thought they might be talking about, you know, a cinema.”  
  
Warden clasped his hands on the table. He had returned a few minutes after me, and we’d been discussing Iris since then. I was perched in the windowsill, watching the waver of sunlight behind the clouds.  
  
“There have been no operational cinemas in Scion Europe since long before you were born,” he pointed out. “Theoretically, neither you nor Iris should have any conception of what they are.”  
  
I frowned, thinking back. “I didn’t, before I met Zeke. He told us what they were like.”  
  
“The location where you lost track of Iris may be worth returning to,” he said. “I was not familiar with the geography of Paris before it became a Scion citadel, but they were likely referring to a historical theater.”  
  
“It’s possible. They might just have turned somewhere else. I didn’t exactly see,” I said.  
  
“Hm.” There was silence for a moment. Warden leaned forward slightly in his chair and looked at me. “May I ask you a question?”  
  
“I might not answer it.”  
  
“You told me once that you did not fear the aether. Is that still true now?”  
  
The way I saw it, I’d narrowly escaped attempted murder by the aether about half an hour ago. And there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again in the next thirty minutes. I could barely remember a time when I hadn’t had some awareness of my gift, of what made me different, but it had always been part of me. A power, a bargaining chip, a danger, a beacon, but always mine. Now I had a tendency to feel as though my silver cord was just barely keeping me afloat from the tumbling surge of the aether.  
  
But I didn’t have a problem with the aether. I had a problem with me.  
  
“I’m not answering that,” I finally said. “But I will say that I was lying when you asked before.”  
  
He nodded. “I believe there is a way to help you recover control of your gift.”  
  
“What’s that?” I said, careful to keep any inflection out of my voice.  
  
“Dreamwalk.”  
  
The word took a moment to reach my brain. I slid off the windowsill and stared at him. “What do you mean, dreamwalk?”  
  
“Utilise your gift. Leave your dreamscape.”  
  
“Warden, the last time I tried that I ‘nearly severed my silver cord’, remember? How is repeating that supposed to help?”  
  
“I advise that you not sever your silver cord,” he said calmly.  
  
I crossed my arms. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
“You underestimate me.”  
  
“Arcturus, honestly. What do you think I have to gain from dreamwalking?”  
  
His eyes grew brighter. “For one thing, you might remind yourself of how to do it properly.”  
  
“Or I could die,” I said.  
  
“I have no intention of letting you die.”  
  
I sighed and walked over to the bed. The blankets were still mussed from when I’d left the night before. “Will you help me if I can’t come back?”  
  
“I will do what I can. I understand it is difficult for you to remain in the aether after vacating another’s dreamscape,” he said.  
  
The bed creaked when I sat down. I pulled the pillow onto my lap and met his gaze. “You want me to come to your dreamscape?”  
  
“I believe it would be beneficial to you.”  
  
We studied each other from across the room. He had a point. If I was ever going to stop using my gift the wrong way, I had to know how to do it the right way. I tried to tell myself I didn’t care that the exercise would involve Warden’s dreamscape, but curiosity had sprung up in me unbidden when he mentioned it. I wanted to know what his mind looked like now, after the turmoil the Mime Order had been through in the past month. I reminded myself that the war against the Sargas was all that could have changed him. That was what he cared about.  
  
I disengaged from my dreamscape and lifted my spirit to the aether, focusing on the nearby arc of Warden’s mind. He hadn’t completely dropped his defenses, and the golden cord jolted as I passed through the barriers.  
  
The red drapes still fringed the edges of his mind. The amaranth was still encased in its glass sheath. Warden’s dream-form stood in his sunlit zone, facing away from me.  
  
“You appear to have found success in leaving your corporeal form,” he stated.  
  
“Right. Can I have a gold star?”  
  
“If you find one here, I have no objection.”  
  
There was a short silence. I looked to the edges of his dreamscape, where the forms of his specters stood amongst the velvet. They didn’t back away when I stepped closer, fascinated by the idea that these figures represented Warden’s fears. I couldn’t distinguish their smoky features, but I could see the empty hollows where eyes should be, the flexion of clothing.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Warden turn his head. “Do you dreamwalkers have any concept of privacy?”  
  
“Sorry,” I said. The specters retreated to his hadal zone. “Should I go now?”  
  
“If you like,” he said.  
  
His dream-form still wasn’t looking in my direction. Its colorless profile stared out into emptiness, a sculpture of marred stone. Without really meaning to, I moved closer. Scattered ashes fluttered and resettled around my feet as I walked. When I was close enough to touch him, he met my gaze. His eyes burned on mine, strangely discrepant with the dull hue of his skin.  
  
A rumble emanated from his throat, and he looked away from me. Only a few seconds had passed, but the tremors of the golden cord made me feel as though I was waking from a reverie of hours.  
  
I turned and withdrew from his mind. My silver cord tautened, plucking me from the aether like a leaf from a stream, and I was veiled in my own skin once more. Words eluded me for a moment while I caught my breath. Warden gazed at my face, his expression steeled with the same austerity as his dream-form.  
  
“The rapidity of your return indicates that you are capable of dictating your own path through the aether,” he said.  
  
“I’m trying.” I crossed my legs and tilted back against the wall. “I promise, I’m trying. But when I go too far, it feels like only half of me is there and the other half is already a ghost.”  
  
He rose and pulled me upright. “You know ghosts better than anyone, Paige Mahoney. And if there is one thing you should have learned from them, it is that ghosts are not the ones who have given up their struggle. The spirits that stay in this world are those that, either for love or for loathing of their life in this world, refuse to leave it.”  
  
“Which reason should I stay for?” I replied quietly.  
  
Our hands were still linked. I noticed the ebb of fire behind his irises, the tiny flare in the instant before he spoke. “For your sake and for the sake of the Mime Order, respectively,” he said, “both.”  
  
I wanted it not to matter how close we were standing. I wanted it to be normal for us to hold hands like this. But until the world changed around us, we had to stay apart.  
  
I turned to the center of the room, where a sleek black winter coat was folded neatly over one of the chairs. Warden had come back the night before, as I thought he might, to leave me supplies. Now I pulled the jacket over my shoulders and faced him.  
  
“I’m going back to where I lost them,” I said. “There must be some clue to where they went - or even to who Iris is.”  
  
“Do you think you would recognize her dreamscape if she were anywhere nearby?”  
  
I frowned. “Not sure. I’ll keep the idea in mind.”  
  
Warden opened the door for me. “I will leave as well,” he said. “I have a few other points of curiosity to satisfy.”  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“Paris.”  
  
I gave him a look.  
  
“Good luck, Paige.”  
  
_____  
  


Iris’ face and that of the boy who had called her grandmother floated in my mind’s eye as I retraced my steps from earlier. The boy couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve; too young to be so apprehensive about this mysterious cinema. _Il me faudra y aller tout seul_ , I’ll have to go there all alone. That shouldn’t be a normal fear of Scion Parisians, especially considering that there shouldn’t be any cinemas in Scion Paris.  
  
I still wasn’t completely sure what the point of a cinema would be. It seemed unnecessary to go to the trouble of crossing town just to watch a video at the same time as some strangers. But then, maybe Zeke’s explanation hadn’t done them justice. I wondered if Warden had ever been to a cinema.  
  
It didn’t take long before I was ducking into the alley where I’d nearly lost my spirit. It was the same as any other street in the city, hedged by the dull walls of apartments or warehouses. I withdrew to the main road and circled the buildings, keeping one eye out for any possible entry points. A window two or three stories above me was ajar, but that wouldn’t do me much good in broad daylight.  
  
Jaxon’s words stole into my consciousness. _If you want anyone to take you seriously, darling, convince them you deserve it. At the moment, I am convinced you deserve the opportunity to fetch me some tea._ I shook off his voice, but he’d been right. I just needed to show a bit of confidence.  
  
I unzipped my jacket and pulled my shoulders back, casually slipping a hand into my pocket as I approached the doors opposite the alleyway. The handle didn’t turn when I shoved at it. I feigned checking my entirely empty pocket again, my gaze darting across the door in search of a way to force it open. A bit of silver below me caught my eye. The edge of a key protruded from the door sweep. Intuition told me it was too good to be true, but my instincts told me not to waste the opportunity. I bent and whipped the key into my hand, then prodded it into the lock.  
  
The door swung open softly, revealing a dimly lit room. A square window on the far wall faced into a pot of wizened flowers. Metal shelves reaching almost to the ceiling leaned against the walls, and three pillars stretched to the floor in front of me. Although the center of the room was devoid of furniture, the carpet had a curious pattern of golden circles on it. When I knelt to examine it, I realized the circles were brass fixtures not more than two inches high. There was no clue as to their purpose.  
  
Was this Iris’ cinema? And if not, what purpose was an empty room covered in brass disks to whoever had left the key in the doorway?  
  
I passed the pillars and walked to the window. Close to the glass, I began to shiver from proximity to the chill outside. There was nothing here. I’d have to find another way to contact the enigmatic sensor. I sighed, turning from the window, and zipped my jacket back up.  
  
My jacket. It was a surprisingly high-quality article of clothing; I hadn’t been cold at all on the way here. Why, then, did this place hold such a chill?  
  
I saw it when I turned from the window. A shelf tucked in the corner, behind the door, was covered in shards of ice. Ice that I knew without bothering to look could be formed into the shape of a perfect circle. There was an Emite somewhere in Paris, and it could come back to this place - to its cold spot - at any moment.  
  
I jolted the window sash up and clambered through, wincing as my arm scraped past the frame. I spilled out from over the flowerpot and darted from the alley. The Emite might not even be in the vicinity, but I wasn’t going to take my chances against one. I could still remember the monsters perfectly. Ghastly sarx-creatures hidden by their own personal fogs of darkness, emitting a shriek that put one in mind of a thousand flies being tortured, the Emim were a horror that not even Rephaim could be certain of defeating.  
  
And Iris had been going right towards one’s gate to the Netherworld only a few hours before.  
  
When I reached the ostensible electronics store, I made straight for the corner booth only to find it already occupied by a dour-looking man with long black hair and a weak aura. For a moment, I considered joining him - there was obviously something special about voyants that frequented this particular store - but instead sidled into the next closest table. I bent my head over the screen and tapped at the icons. How many unnaturals could I kill? How many innocent civilians could I save from the clairvoyant menace?  
  
While I kept my eyes down, I focused on my sixth sense, keeping track of the dreamscapes around me. Two arguing amaurotics strolled by me. A cluster of dreamscapes separated into two tables. The man next to me passed into the wall.  
  
I started, angling my head to see the booth in my peripheral vision. No one was there. I glanced around, rose smoothly, and seated myself in the spot where the voyant had been moments before. The screen in front of me showed a paused game and offered me three more seconds to continue playing. I touched the blue OK button, but the counter simply reset, telling me I had ten seconds before the game automatically closed. Something else was at play here. I agreed to continue the game again and leaned back in my seat nonchalantly.  
  
The wall under the table was gone. I tried to get a glimpse of what was there instead, but I couldn’t make anything out besides a black void. Tentatively, I slipped my foot over the edge.  
  
_Vous avez deux secondes restantes. Vous avez une seconde restante._ A panel slid back to re-form the wall, jamming against my boot. I yanked off my glove and crammed it into the opening, then stood and marched to the back of the store, where an attendant stood at a desk.  
  
_“Puis-je vous aider?”_ she said politely.  
  
_“Vous connaissez Iris. Il me faut parler avec elle,”_ I said.  
  
The attendant’s pleasant expression faltered. Her face was the color of ivory, framed by brilliant auburn. “Iris?”  
  
_“Ou l’homme qui vient de disparaître de la table dans le coin.”_ She wasn’t voyant, but she had to have information about whatever group used this place as a hideout.  
  
_“Mademoiselle, je ne peux pas vous aider,_ ” she said. “ _S’il vous plaît..._ ”  
  
My hands crammed into fists inside my pockets. Either Iris didn’t understand the threat an Emite posed, or she didn’t care that there was one roaming her city. My spirit nudged at the edges of my dreamscape, but using my gift on a civilian in public - or a member of the Paris syndicate convincingly posing as one - was about as good an idea as trying to strike up a friendship with a poltergeist.  
  
_“Bonjour, mesdames,”_ said a familiar voice behind us. I spun to see Iris herself, her dusky gray hair pulled by a tie at her nape. “Ah, rose, good to see you again.”  
  
I glared at the redheaded attendant, then grabbed Iris’ wrist and dragged her to the booth with the wall panel. “Where did you go when that boy came in here, Iris?”  
  
“Why would you go to the trouble of asking me that when you could have just followed us?” she returned merrily.  
  
“The room with the shelves and the fixtures in the floor. What were you doing there?”  
  
Iris finally frowned. “I don’t know those words, rose. Do you mean the old cinema?”  
  
“Yes,” I snapped. “The one that now has a functioning gate to hell in the corner.”  
  
“We hoped to close the gate,” she said quietly. “A friend of Lucas's warned him days ago of the strange chill, but we did not find the place he meant until -”  
  
“This morning.” How long had the Emite been out?  
  
“Yes.”  
  
I stared into her eyes, still twinkling out of her otherwise solemn expression. “Iris,” I said, “do you know what it was that came through the gate?”  
  
_“Non_ , rose. We only know of the threat through rumors that come from the country. There is a saying: death follows a dearth of warmth and wraiths.”  
  
So there had been Emim sightings in France. Apparently the creatures came frequently enough to attract the attention of humans. I stood and pulled on a glove. I had to find Warden, and soon.  
  
“What came through the gate, Flora Blake?” Iris said.  
  
For the first time in too long, my lips curved upwards in a smile. “I’ll tell you on two conditions,” I replied. “First, that you tell me why I was able to stick this -” I drew my glove out of the gap, which smoothly slid shut - “into the wall of this booth.”  
  
She grinned. “And the other?”  
  
“That I survive the answer to your question,” I said. _“Bonne journée_ , Iris.”  
  
And, gloved and hooded, I strode from the store in search of a Rephaite.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked reading this!  
> P.S. I speak French to some extent, but I’m not a native speaker. If you are and you have advice on any of the French in here, feel free to let me know!


End file.
